


Love Me Sharply

by eveningsoother (WhichWolfWins)



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood Drinking, Dark Sherlock, M/M, Vampire Sherlock, Vamplock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-28
Updated: 2014-10-28
Packaged: 2018-02-22 23:23:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2525525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhichWolfWins/pseuds/eveningsoother
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he's thirsty, he comes back to John.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Me Sharply

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic for The Writer's Club. The prompt was Halloween. Initially, I was going to write a completely different fic, but then suddenly I didn't have any time to write it, so this fic happened instead. Even this fic didn't get where I wanted it to go, because I simply ran out of time. I'll do better next time! :)

His eyes are drawn to him immediately. Across a crowded room, dimmed and coloured by the beams of crossing purple and green lights, he sits, and John’s eyes gravitate to him the moment he’s through the door.

He’s cloaked in darkness, a solo figure apart from the rest of the seated high schoolers, and his eyes light on John as soon as he arrives. Maybe John imagines it, but Sherlock’s head tilts up ever so slightly in acknowledgement as their eyes meet and he swears he sees Sherlock take in a breath. Either way, John’s blood coarses just a little faster through his veins and he feels his cheeks burn. He could blame it on the heat of the room filled with sweaty, dancing students, but he doesn’t. Sherlock has always had this affect on him, always would. 

Before he knows it, he’s made his excuses to his friends and is crossing the crowded floor, finding his way to the bleachers. His eyes search frantically, noticing Sherlock’s sudden absence from the bench and he spots, just out of the corner of his eye, a whisper of black cloth just disappearing out of sight behind the metal seats. 

John quickens his step and barely spares a glance over his shoulder before slipping behind the bleachers and out the hidden door into the crisp, dark night. 

He’s slammed against the cement wall before he’s a had the chance to breathe and what little air in his lungs is knocked out of him as he collides with the rocky, hard wall. 

His vision blurs and comes back into focus as Sherlock crowds against him and he sucks in a few short, harsh breaths from the scant air between them as his eyes are captivated by Sherlock’s. He just can’t bring himself to look away and he imagines he couldn’t, even if he wanted to. 

“Must you always follow me?” Sherlock says, his voice cutting, sharp as the rocks digging into John’s skull. His voice is harsh, but that’s not what John pays attention to now. All his focus is on that single place of bare contact between him and Sherlock - his neck, where Sherlock’s fingers feel like ice wrapped around the column of his throat. 

“I wouldn’t if you didn’t want me to,” John says, because Sherlock’s holding tight, but not so tight that John can’t breathe, can’t speak. 

Sherlock’s hold falters slightly and then his grip is gone, leaving just Sherlock’s skin against John’s, like he can’t bring himself to move away completely. 

“I told you, Sherlock. I’m not scared of you,” John told him, his heart thumping wildly as Sherlock studied him closely, portraying no more emotion than that. He’s gotten better at it recently, but it’s not enough to deter John. He knows, can tell by the way Sherlock still breathes slowly but surely between them. 

Suddenly Sherlock’s nostrils flared and his irises, so light as to be nearly colourless, were nearly filled in by the black of his pupils. The bob of his adam’s apple caught John’s eye just beneath the tie of his thick black cape right before Sherlock crowded so close John had to tip his head back so he could hold his gaze. He couldn’t hide the way his breath hitched as Sherlock pressed into him, filling the void that was always his to fill. 

“You’re bleeding,” Sherlock hisses, reaching up despite himself and pressing his cold fingers against a sore spot on the back of John’s head, soothing the ache for a fleet moment before and he draws back his hand to look at the crimson painting his skin. 

Sherlock was entranced by the sight of the blood on his fingers. He stared down at it, his pupils burning like a coal as he looked at the stark red against the pale while of his hand, his lips parted to reveal two razor sharp fangs. 

John closed his eyes, needing a moment to prepare himself before he opened them again. “Sherlock?” he said, barely above a whisper. He reached out and took Sherlock’s wrist in his hand. “It’s fine,” he murmured. “It’s all fine.” 

As he suspected, he did not feel a pulse beneath his thumb, no warmth in Sherlock’s skin, and true panic took hold of John. Sherlock was edging ever closer to the monster. 

There was a barely imperceptible turn of Sherlock’s head and they were eye to eye once more. 

“I need,” Sherlock said through bared teeth, “for you to get away from me.” He tilted his head sideways, looking absolutely predatory, and glared at John. “Leave,” he growled. “John,” he managed after, his voice soft in desperation. He took a tentative breath, trying to keep control of himself and just barely managing to. 

“You wouldn’t have come if you didn’t need to,” John told him, his voice wavering. He tilted his head back, baring his neck for Sherlock. “Drink, Sherlock. Please.” He blinked his eyes several times, feeling the sharp prickle of tears forming. He’d thought he had come to grips with it, but if he was honest with himself, he knew that would never happen. He was done for the first time they met. “I need you to drink.” 

Sherlock smacked his hand hard against the wall by John’s head, smearing John’s blood on the rocks and startling John enough to make him close his eyes tight. When he dared to open them again, Sherlock’s eyes were wide and he leaned into John, cupped his face in his cold hands, and kissed him shakily. 

“I miss you, John,” Sherlock murmured against his mouth, then he parted John’s mouth with his still warm tongue, held John against him and kissed him deeply, desperately, tangling his tongue together with John’s against the side of the building, making sure to cradle John’s injured head gently in his hand. 

John felt Sherlock coming undone against him and opened his eyes to see Sherlock’s were closed. He slipped his fingers into Sherlock’s hair and kissed him, remembering when things were simple, when he could kiss Sherlock like this under a beating sun with not a care in the world. 

He kissed him for all the days they couldn’t be together and all the nights Sherlock kept himself away, and kissed him through the dig of Sherlock’s fingers in his back, the cut of Sherlock’s teeth as he lost the control he’d had to keep them sheathed. He continued to kiss Sherlock down his cheek, down the side of his neck, holding him close as Sherlock’s fingers found their way into his hair and gripped it tight as he went in for the bite. John let out a scream as Sherlock sank his teeth deep into John’s neck and began to drink.


End file.
